I’d heard tales of The Dentist my whole life. ‘The Dentist,’ two words, just like that and every kid knew who you were talking about. The Dentist was an actual dentist, but so evil he’d rip out all 32 of a patient’s teeth. Even the good ones! Just to collect more money. This would leave the patient toothless and miserable. The Depraved Dentist filled his pockets with insurance money and Tooth-fairy money, too. His patients would always be angry when they came to, ready to sink the teeth they no longer had into the dentist. He’d move practices, though, never striking more than once or twice in the same town.

            To believe those tall tales without proof would have been crazy, so I didn’t.

            My teeth were sharp and important. I needed them to eat, so I took care of them. Every year I’d go to the dentist and every year I’d get a polishing, news of an occasional cavity, and always a Loch Ness toothbrush and a box of floss.

         It was my yearly visit to the dentist and I was looking forward to my new toothbrush. My old one had been worn down with regular use. I checked in at the Sweet Tooth, DDS office. There I was told my usual dentist was on vacation, but not to worry because a visiting dentist was in. He would take good care of me, the receptionist told me. She gave me a sincere smile.

          I took a seat in the waiting room. Finding an edition of Creature Teacher buried under a pile of Grave & Garden and GRIME magazines, I began to read. I had just finished enjoying an article on a talented kraken saxophonist and her jazz music when the door opened and a patient came stumbling out. The man looked dazed, as if he were just coming out of being sedated. There was a little blood at the edges of his swollen mouth where the cotton balls had become over saturated and red. When the man saw me, he smiled like a madman. It wasn’t much of a smile at all, though, for the man was missing a couple teeth. His mouth was not white, or even yellow, but red and pink with gory gums. Even his remaining teeth were pink with blood. He smiled at the receptionist, as well, who gasped. When the man staggered out of the office, still in a daze, the receptionist met eyes with me and shrugged.

            She said, ‘Must have had a lot of cavities.’

            ‘Yeah,’ I laughed nervously and tried to read my magazine. I was worried I might have a cavity, too. But mine had always been filled, not removed.

          The woman next to me said, glad I’m only here for a cleaning, to which I agreed. This woman had her name called a short while later and she went into the back room when the door was opened. I couldn’t see who it was that called her, but the voice was far from pleasant. It sounded more impatient than anything.

          Perhaps twenty minutes later the door open once again and the woman came stumbling out, rubbing her jaw. ‘It’s so numb,’ she said and laughed like mad woman, dazed. ‘Why do I need to be numb for a cleaning anyway?’ she said. She wasn’t much interested in an actual answer it seemed, for upon seeing me, she smiled. I reeled back in horror. It was a terrible sight of emptiness. She too had a bloody smile. The largest of her front teeth had been removed, leaving teeth on either side of a large gap.

            As she stumbled out of the office I met eyes with the receptionist who shrugged once more. She looked truly concerned this time.  ‘Sometimes cavities sneak up on you,’ she said, probably not even convincing herself that that is what happened.

            There were only two patients left in the waiting room. Me and a man who had until just then been listening to his iPod. He took his ear buds out. His name was called from the suddenly opened door and he stood. Still, I couldn’t see who it was calling. The man entered the back room and the door shut. Sometime later we, the receptionist and myself, heard a scream!

            ‘No! Please no!’ the screamer said and then there was silence.

            I was quite worried by this point—doubly so when the door was cracked open and a gnarled hand reached out. The creepy hand grabbed a stretcher bed that sat near the wall and pulled it inside. The hand had specks of blood on it, I noticed. A moment later the receptionist was called back and came wheeling the patient out on the rolling stretcher. The patient was in a daze and, as he was wheeled by, he said to me, ‘I just came here for an X-ray.’ I noticed something that turned my stomach as he spoke… Every one of his teeth had been plucked from his mouth.

            I ran out of there before the dentist had time to call me in. I never went back, convinced it was The Dentist collecting teeth for money. How could I not be convinced of that after what I’d seen? I was too afraid to return to the dentist for a new appointment or even to a new dentist for fear they’d be on vacation, too, and have that depraved dentist fill in for them. Over time my teeth became dirtier with more plaque buildup. Eventually I lost my teeth, as you can see. In the end, I guess—by way of fear—The Dentist stole my teeth, too.